“Are you okay, honey?” Dad asked, scrutinizing my face. “You’re home really early. Where’s your shadow?”
I frowned at my father’s nickname for Logan, and Dad’s blue eyes narrowed as he studied me.
“What’s wrong? Is it Logan? Did that boy hurt you?”
“Dad, no,” I insisted as my father folded his arms, clearly not believing me.
“Paige, you look like you’re in a daze.”
“I’m fine,” I said, smiling brightly to make up for the trembling in my voice. “Just tired.”
My father paled as he studied me, getting up from the couch to stand before me.
“You didn’t have one of your...episodes again, did you?” he asked gently, his eyes searching my face. “You’ve been doing so well, but maybe having a boyfriend is too much stress on you.”
I winced at his mention of a boyfriend—and Dad noticed.
“Maybe you need to go back to therapy—”
“Dad, no. It’s nothing like what you think. Please, just let me wash this b-b-bright ink off me,” I stammered desperately, wringing my hands together as I stood on display in the center of the living room. I can’t believe I almost said blood.
Finally I just strode into the bathroom, desperate to get my hands clean as I used a nail brush to scrub the blood off my hands, trying to hold back the tears as the violet-tinged water swirled down the drain. There was a lot of it. And suddenly I was terrified for Logan. I stifled a gasp as his agonized face flashed behind my eyelids. Is he okay? How bad is that wound?
“Something is wrong, I know my daughter,” my dad insisted, standing in the entrance to the bathroom. “Did Logan do something to you?”
“No, Dad.”
“Are you sure? I never liked the looks of that boy,” my father said, folding his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. His comment sparked a flare of protectiveness in me. Dad already tormented Logan every chance he got. Don’t make it worse on him the next time they’re in the same room. If there is a next time.
I barked out a short laugh at the irony of it all. The only reason I knew Logan was a liar was because he’d gotten injured protecting me.
“What’s so funny, Paige?” my father asked suspiciously. “What did he do to you?”
“The idea that Logan would lay a finger on me is what’s funny. It’s nothing he’s done,” I said, gripping the edge of the sink with soapy fingers. No matter what, I couldn’t let my dad have a bad image of him. Logan didn’t deserve that. I didn’t know what he deserved right now, but he didn’t deserve my father’s scorn. I could at least do that for him.
“Are you sure? Did he say something ungentlemanly—” he growled as he pronounced the word “—about you? I know how locker room talk goes.”
“Dad, Logan hit a guy who said something ungentlemanly about me in the locker room. Logan’s the last person to say or do anything like that to me.”
My dad’s eyes opened in surprise.
“And you’re mad at him about it?”
I shook my head no.
“Well, I don’t know if I agree with using violence to solve anything, but in this case—” my dad bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to hide a smile “—Logan’s gone up a few points in my estimation.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said, brushing past my dad to go back into the living room. He followed me.
“Paige, what happened? You come in here upset, you don’t even notice that you’ve got gunk in your hair. I thought teenage girls lived and died by the condition of their hair.”
I whirled around to face my dad, a smart remark ready to burst through my lips. But when I saw the earnest, concerned expression on his face, I felt my shoulders sag.
It was hard enough trying to sort through my feelings about what I’d just discovered about Logan. Part of me felt betrayed. Another part of me felt like he had to have a reason for keeping it from me. And then there was the rational part of me, which told me to move to Canada and change my name, because Logan was a demon and all demons were evil.
All those warring parts of me agreed on one thing: this was the deepest hurt I’d ever felt, and I couldn’t handle trying to defend Logan to my father anymore.
“Can’t I just have a bad day and not get the inquisition over it?” I pleaded.
“Okay, kiddo,” Dad said, coming over to give me a hug. “Go wash this crap off, and just remember, I’m here to talk,” he said, awkwardly patting my debris-dusted hair. “Or if it’s really, um, womanly stuff, you can talk to your mom when she gets home,” he reminded me.
And she sure tried to get me to talk, especially after my father had gone to work. So much for holing up in my room all night. My mom dragged me into the living room, wanting to know why Logan hadn’t joined us for dinner—as he had every Friday since I first squeezed his hand.
For one night, couldn’t my parents forget that they cared about me and leave me alone?
“Mom, it’s just a—”
“Bad day. I know that’s what you told your dad. But I know the difference between a bad day, and a bad day over a boy,” Mom replied, staring at me wisely as we sat on the couch, the laugh track of an old sitcom sounding in the background.
“So, what did Logan do?” she asked, holding her white mug, absently running her fingers over the raised red logo for some bank. “And don’t even try to tell me it has nothing to do with him.”
“Fine, it does,” I finally admitted, taking a sip of my tea. It was loaded with sugar and milk, just the way I liked it. But it was doing nothing to calm my nerves.
“What did he do? I’ve heard it all before. You should hear the things the younger girls at work talk about.” My mom raised her eyebrows and let out a whistle.
“Logan’s different from those guys.” If only she knew how different.
“Sweetie, it doesn’t matter how old they are. There are some universal truths when it comes to men,” Mom said wisely.
“He, uh...he didn’t tell me something he should have,” I said, deciding that was true enough.
“About what?”
“Um...you know. Stuff.” I shrugged. Way to be literate, Paige.
My mom pursed her lips, pulling them to one side of her face as she studied me.
“Does it have something to do with things he’s done in the past, maybe? Perhaps other girls?” she asked, arching a sculpted eyebrow, and I groaned.
Oh, great. Now Mom thinks this is about sex, and I don’t even know if we’re physically compatible. Aiden had wings. Who knew what other differences existed between us?
I shuddered at the thought of the surprises that could be hiding down below, and my mom nodded sagely, thinking I’d just confirmed her suspicions.
“It’s not what you think,” I mumbled, holding up my mug and trying to hide behind it, feeling my face flush.
“Have you talked to him about why you’re upset?” she asked, and I shook my head.
“No. I just—” left him standing there, injured and bleeding, as I ran away “—needed time alone.”
“Well, maybe you should call him tomorrow,” my mom continued.
“You know, Dad would probably like nothing more if I never spoke to him again. Why are you taking Logan’s side?” I asked, studying my mom curiously.
“I’m taking your side, Paige,” my mom corrected me, reaching for one of the butter cookies that sat on a plate on the coffee table. Instead of biting it, she simply studied it, running her finger along the sugar crystals baked into the top.
“I know you’ve had a hard time of it ever since the accident,” Mom said, her dark eyebrows pulling together. “The past three years haven’t been easy. We did what we thought we should do to support you, but nothing seemed to help you get over what happened. You’re always so careful of what you say around us. So guarded.”